


6 Times Dean Propped Sam Up (and 1 Time Sam Propped Dean Up)

by authoressjean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Love, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: Pre-Series to early Season 14. No direct spoilers.Dean learned how to take care of his sick little brother when he was very young, and it's not something he's ever forgotten. It's not something Sam's ever forgotten, either.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 28
Kudos: 363





	6 Times Dean Propped Sam Up (and 1 Time Sam Propped Dean Up)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lissaann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lissaann/gifts).



> This is a gift for my lovely Lissa - thank you forever and a day for your support, your friendship, your being amazing. I'm sorry I didn't get this mailed out to you prior to posting it, but I promise the hard-copy is now officially on its way!

“He’ll be all right, sport,” Dad says, like it should obviously make Dean feel better. It doesn’t. Sammy cries and won’t settle because he’s sick. Dean didn’t think babies even got colds but he probably got it from Dean, and that’s worse, because Dean wouldn’t have gone off to play with Jimmy if he’d known he’d get sick and give it to Sammy.

Mom gives him a hug but it doesn’t make Dean feel better. “Would you like to hold him?” Mom asks. “It’ll help his airways stay open if you keep him propped up. That will help him get better. Besides, everyone feels better after a hug.”

So he does. Sammy quiets down against Dean’s chest and it makes him feel better than the hug did. He’s helping Sammy feel better.

Maybe Sammy will be better in time to go trick or treating next week. Dean can’t wait: he’s going as a firefighter, just like Daddy’s friend. He doesn’t know what Sammy’s going as, but maybe he can be a firefighter, too.

He doesn’t remember how excited he was about being a firefighter, later. But the lesson about propping someone up to help their airways stay open, that one Dean commits to memory, along with his mom’s last words, “Angels are watching over you,” and, “You’re a good big brother; you’ll always help look out for Sammy, won’t you?”

He doesn’t believe the angels part. But he’ll always look out for Sammy.

Dad’s not around the next time Sammy gets really sick. A cold and a fever that keeps going higher and higher every time Dean puts his hand against his brother’s forehead. Sammy doesn’t even want any of the Lucky Charms and that’s when Dean knows he’s in trouble.

He doesn’t have any way to reach his Dad, but he does have the number of the pastor they met last week, Pastor Jim. And though he doesn’t believe in angels (they didn’t help Mom, now did they?), maybe, if there were any angels, they’d be looking out for his four-year-old brother.

So he calls, and Pastor Jim doesn’t mind being woken up at 1am in the morning because the time’s not the same across the country (which doesn’t make any sense to Dean, why can’t everyone be the same time?) but he says Dean’s not far from a friend of his. “I’ll call him and he can come help Sammy. You did the right thing, Dean,” Pastor Jim tells him, but Dean’s not sure about that.

Half an hour later, there’s a knock at the door. He’s got a grumpy look on his face but he sort of stops looking that way when he sees Dean. He looks surprised, and almost sad. “You Dean?” he asks.

“Sammy needs help,” Dean tells him. That’s all that matters. Because his stupid little brother isn’t even crying anymore, he’s just lying there and Dean didn’t mean to call him stupid, he didn’t. He’s just…scared.

The man comes in and immediately pulls medicines out of his bag. Dean hurries to help prop Sammy up (because that’s what you do, that’s what Dean does for Sammy) and the guy asks questions. How old Sammy is. How old Dean is. How long Sammy’s been sick. Where Dad is.

Dean gives all of that sacred knowledge away like it was water flowing between his fingers. Dad would be furious, probably will be furious even though his youngest is (not dying not dying notdyingnotdying) really sick.

Half an hour later, Sammy doesn’t feel hot anymore and he’s even blinking his eyes open. “I’m here, Sammy,” Dean tells him. “I’ve got Lucky Charms and I’m here.”

Sammy glances around, still tired, but he catches sight of the other guy. Before Dean can say anything, though, the guy clears his throat. “I’m a friend of your Daddy’s,” the guy says. “Name’s Bobby, son.”

He leaves Dean with all the medicine and a bag of food after he realizes that Dean’s been hoarding the last of the Lucky Charms and chicken noodle soup for Sammy. He smiles at Dean even and ruffles Sammy’s hair, and Dean thinks that there’s two other people in the world who can help him look out for Sammy. And that helps.

Though he doesn’t mind that when Sammy holds his arms open for a hug, it’s Dean he’s looking for.

Sam (not Sammy anymore apparently) comes down with a cold when he’s thirteen. It’s gotten worse thanks to long nights outside trying to hunt down some weird thing that Dad won’t even tell them what it’s called. Like Dean’s not 17 and able to hunt on his own. It’d be really irritating if Dean weren’t too busy trying to keep his stupid kid alive.

Sam keeps making these really awful breaths, chest rattling for air, and his eyes are fever bright. Dean glances over at their dad again for the sixth time and finally clears his throat. “Dad, Sam’s not lookin’ too hot-“

“We’ll get him to a doctor when the hunt’s over,” Dad snaps. Dean purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. Sam looks more miserable and he wishes he’d just kept his mouth shut.

The hunt finally ends that night, a creature dead, Dad as pleased as he ever gets, and Sam passes out on the way back to the car. Dad finally seems to realize that his kid is really sick, has been for over a week, but he got tunnel vision like he always does and if something happens to Sam because of it then then then-

Dean doesn’t know what he’ll do. But he’d like to think he’ll do something.

Sam feels like an inferno when they reach the ER. The diagnosis comes about an hour later after they’ve got Sam on oxygen and an IV: pneumonia. Kid hasn’t had enough to drink so he’s severely dehydrated, and has he been exposed to the elements for long periods of time lately, because his fingers have the beginning signs of frostbite and the cold probably got worse…

He tunes it out. Nothing else matters except Sam in the bed looking so damn small. Dean hates how small the kid is and can’t wait for him to get bigger. He’s gotta grow at some point, right?

Sam gets worse before he gets better. The oxygen mask just makes him look smaller. When the nurses are only coming in for their hourly rotations, Dean slips into bed behind Sam and helps prop him up. Even though the bed props up, Dean doesn’t feel better until he’s the one keeping Sam upright. And he knows he’s not imaging Sam melting into him, eyes finally shutting once he’s finally safe with Dean.

It’s his job. And apparently he’s been sucking at it.

Dad doesn’t say anything, but he does look upset, so Dean figures that’s something. He ignores Dad when the man leaves and instead parks himself in a chair beside the hospital bed. He’s not leaving Sam. He should’ve pushed Dad sooner, should’ve done something, anything.

It’s why, when Sam and Dad fight about Stanford a few years later, he doesn’t take Dad’s side and lets his kid go. Because the pneumonia took two months to actually clear out of his lungs and the kid was weak as hell and there are a hundred other incidents like that, so clearly Dean hasn’t done his job, hasn’t kept Sam safe. And if Sam’s safer elsewhere, then that’s where Sam needs to be.

Not long after Dad dies, Sam starts coughing.

Dean doesn’t pay attention to it at first. Sam’s not making a big deal out of it and that’s all that matters at the moment. He just…can’t. Not with Sam, not now. Not with Dad’s words ringing in his ears and the man he looked up to nothing but ashes. So if Sam coughs every now and then, whatever. The air’s dry.

Two nights later, Sam won’t stop coughing. And Dean’s sleeping badly enough as it is so if Sam won’t stop coughing, he’s not going to get any sleep, period. He thinks about throwing a pillow at his brother. “Sam, get some water,” he orders from his bed.

The next cough comes rough and deep. And it doesn’t stop.

By the time Dean’s out of bed and over to Sam’s, the cough is getting weaker and weaker, no air left to pull in. Sam’s eyes are scrunched shut and his hand is wrapped around his shirt above his chest. His chest isn’t rising.

Dean gets the shower going, as hot as it’ll go, and shuts the door behind him. He grabs a bottle of water from the table and tries to get Sam to drink some of it. Sam won’t even move, just stays there, curled up like he’s dy-

No. Not on Dean’s watch. Not _ever_.

He gets the kid out of bed and all but drags him to the bathroom. The steam inside is enough to loosen even Dean’s nostrils and he shuts the door again, then sits down against it, Sam’s back to his front. Sam’s chest isn’t expanding and the kid’s mouth is open, begging for air.

“C’mon,” Dean mutters. “C’mon, Sammy. Come _on_.”

He rubs at Sam’s chest, his back, trying to get muscles to let go. Slowly they do, and the bluish tinge to Sam’s face disappears. Finally, unsteadily, Sam draws in his first breath.

Dean shuts his eyes and leans his head back against the door. He doesn’t know what time it is. He’s exhausted but nowhere near sleep anymore. His eyes are burning from the steam, not because his little brother almost suffocated next to him. Because he was almost completely an orphan.

He keeps Sam propped up and they breathe together. Sam’s fingers are wrapped in Dean’s pants just above his knee and Dean hasn’t let go, won’t let go, until Sam’s safe.

He’s lost Dad. He will _not_ lose Sammy, too.

The trials…

Dean won’t even think about them or the hell they brought down. The bloody handkerchiefs changing to bloody bile, the lack of eating turning to IVs because Sam just can’t keep anything down but he’s wasting away, the exhaustion and the fever and the inability to stand straight because he’s weaker than a newborn kitten.

Dean spends a lot of nights with Sam propped up against him. Dean knows Sam spends as much time as possible dealing with this without his brother because he doesn’t want to be a “burden.” Dean works that much harder to prove to Sam that he isn’t, that Dean wishes he’d killed the hellhound first, that he wishes Sam didn’t have to do this.

He wishes he were more surprised when Sam completely breaks in front of him in the church, vomits truth like it’s blood, and looks like he’s paper-thin. He wishes anything he could say will make a difference, wishes, _Please, Sammy,_ and doesn’t even know how he’ll finish the sentence.

Just knows that there’s so much self-hatred in his brother that he ignored and he can’t prop his brother up and he’ll be all better. This is a sickness that his brother might not recover from.

But when Sam trusts him and walks away, and Dean carries (drags) him out of the church, for a tiny second, he wonders if maybe he can be the thing that makes his brother feel better after all.

Amara’s running loose when Sam gets a fever. “It’s just a low-grade fever,” Sam says, like Sam sick doesn’t send a frisson of fear through Dean. Like he doesn’t remember Sam during the trials and Sam nearly dying with Dad and Sam Sam _Sam_.

Besides, it’s not like Sam will allow Dean anywhere near him if he gets really sick. Not after the Mark. Not after…not after Gadreel. Not after Dean wore black eyes and chased his brother through the bunker in a sick game of hide and seek. Sam doesn’t confide in him the same way anymore. And Dean can’t blame him.

Still, when Sam’s fever sticks around, Dean finds himself doing the same things he usually does. Makes tea the way Sam likes it. Makes comfort food. Even buys a box of Lucky Charms that he knows his brother probably won’t touch, but old habits die hard.

Despite all of this, he’s still stunned when, at 3am, Sam sends a text (it’s not like he’s asleep, if he sleeps he’ll just dream and he can’t). All it says is one word. _Help._

Dean’s out of bed and racing down the halls so fast he thinks he probably sprained something on the way. It doesn’t matter because if Sam needs him-

Sam’s kitten-weak again, leaving Dean terrified and flashing back to the trials. “Think m’fever’s up,” Sam whispers breathlessly, and Dean doesn’t realize he brought the thermometer with him until it’s in his hands. The fever’s not low-grade anymore, but nowhere near the levels it was during the trials. It still makes him want to be sick.

He brings wet cloths and props Sam up in bed, surrounded by pillows. It only seems to make Sam more uncomfortable, no matter what he does, and Dean finally admits defeat. It wasn’t Dean he wanted. All Sam wanted was someone to know he was getting worse. It’s pragmatic. That’s all.

He begins to leave, Sam’s phone within reach, until he hears Sam cough. It’s not a sick cough, but a cough to catch someone’s attention, and it does the job. He stalls in the doorway.

Sam looks small in the bed, all but smothered by all the pillows Dean found. “It, uh. It might spike,” Sam says. “Could you, uh. Could you…stay close? Maybe just to make sure?”

He realizes that Sam doesn’t look small because he’s sick, it’s because he’s anticipating Dean’s response, and the fact that Sam has to ask just shows how far off base they are, and how long it’s gone on. The fact that Sam’s even asked proves his brother’s got balls of steel. Dean’s not sure he could’ve.

Sam’s face is falling and he looks ready to shake it off. “Netflix?” Dean asks, and Sam looks so damn hopeful that it makes Dean feel five inches tall again.

In the end, it’s them and the Lucky Charms box settled around their hip for munching purposes and medicine at the ready (just in case). Sam props himself up against Dean and finally settles, finally sighs in relief, and Dean realizes that it really _was_ him that helps Sam feel better. Even after all this time.

Sam’s fever breaks around nine in the morning, and the barriers between them feel less, too.

He doesn’t realize how an angel possession will make him feel until Michael’s had him for god knows how long. All he knows is that when he finally finds himself the only one in his head, he’s weak, he’s exhausted, and he just wants to sleep for a week.

And Sam’s there, looking suddenly so much like Dad that for a minute Dean’s thrown and can’t breathe. But then the man before him kneels and smiles so brightly at him that it’s clearly nobody except his little brother, even under a beard that’s got to go.

Sam gets him back to the bunker that’s still buried under people, but Sam moves him through and he finds himself in his room. “Wait here,” Sam says, and then he’s gone. And Dean’s alone.

It feels weird to be alone. And he’s tired and he just wants to sleep but there’s no way he can do that. And his chest feels weird and tight and the cough doesn’t surprise him.

Sam reappears mid-cough and works on stripping him out of his monkey suit. He’s in his clothes again, warm and soft like they’d just been in the dryer and oh, they’d just been in the dryer. He’s settled into bed which is cool but filled with pillows, and he realizes some of them are Sam’s. Which doesn’t make a lick of sense because Sam didn’t bring pillows in with him-

Unless his brother’s been sleeping in here. For some reason, it breaks his heart even while it warms it.

Sam’s got a mug of coffee doctored just right and his favorite robe. He finds himself with both and surrounded with pillows. He hears the thunk of boots being kicked off and then Sam crawls into bed with him and leans Dean back against him. A hand brushes against his forehead and it feels blessedly cool. He closes his eyes with a sigh.

“A little warm,” Sam murmurs. “Not too bad but we’ll keep an eye on it. I’ve got stuff if it goes too high.”

“You’ve got people-“

“And they can wait. My only priority is you.”

He shifts against Sam and realizes he’s more or less being propped up, and a large hand is rubbing against his back. “What’re you doing?” he asks.

He can hear the smile in Sam’s voice when he answers. “It helps people breathe if you prop them up. And it’s always helped me, when you do it. Because you’re there.”

God he missed this jerk, this kid, this stupid, stupid kid who never would’ve given up looking for him. He leans back against Sam and finally feels better for the first time since Michael took over.

He’s taken care of Sam for a long time. He just didn’t realize his brother learned to take care of him, too.


End file.
